


shit just got real

by kushling



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Demisexuality, Frottage, M/M, Making Out, Recreational Drug Use, it's not as funny as the title may imply i have no sense of humor honestly, shance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:24:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kushling/pseuds/kushling
Summary: Lance develops a crush on his hot Calc TA, and woos him with awful math jokes.





	

**Author's Note:**

> uhhh this fic is purely self-indulgent, who hasn't wanted to get with their hot TA amirite

Lance has no idea how he got here. He’s sitting on the floor leaning against the couch in his apartment, watching _It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia_ , his mind blissfully blank. On the floor in front of him is a bong and an open jar of Nutella. He’s four bowls in and extremely, extremely stoned.

A normal Thursday night, for him.

Except for the fact that behind him, lain sideways on the couch, is Shiro, whose big hands touch Lance’s hair, light and feathery, never once digging deep enough to graze against the lines of his scalp. It’s driving Lance nuts, but he’s too spaced out to articulate it.

Shiro’s presence is unreal. Incomprehensible. Lance is probably dreaming; he’s convinced of it, in fact.

Because Shiro is his fucking TA for Multivariate Calculus. Shiro is a fucking hot, 23-year old grad student working towards a Masters in Discrete Mathematics who graduated from MIT two years ago and is smart as fuck. Who, in case you didn’t catch it the first time, is Lance’s fucking TA. Who is kind and intelligent and is the object of multiple students’ affections, regardless of sexuality.

Lance thinks back to the semester—his crush, to his credit, developed much later than those of his classmates, because looks didn’t do it for him as much as a good personality did. So a week into the class, he nonchalantly visited Shiro’s office hours late at night for help, because despite going to a tech school, he sucked at anything remotely computer science, as an architecture major himself.

During his first visit, there were lots of other students there, and Shiro effortlessly helped the group of them work through a problem set. He was nice, helpful, but utterly resistant to the flirty comments some of the girls made to him, that would have genuinely worked on any single guy—Lance included. Lance thinks about how Shiro maintained his professionalism through and through, how the girls left the room slightly dejected. In the present, he feels a shameful sting of pride at his success in comparison to their failure.

Lance’s office hour visits after that were much less crowded. There were other TA’s for the course, with more convenient office hours than Shiro’s, and the students elected to go to those instead, hot TA or not.

But Shiro’s 10 PM office hours worked really well for Lance. He had a shift at the library from 7 to 10, and Shiro’s dinky little room in the Science Hall was only a five-minute walk away. Lance made it a habit to go twice a week, just to keep on schedule with the course’s intensive workload.

Around his third or fourth visit, he lingered, not because of any ulterior motive, but because he had a math joke his fucking nerd friend Keith had told him that he wanted to share.  
“Hey wait, Shiro, I have a really funny joke to tell you.”

Shiro looked up expectantly.

Lance turned to the board, drew “-shit” on it in chalk, and then drew a root over it. Then, he put the whole thing in parentheses and squared it.

Shiro stared at the board, his eyebrows furrowed. Lance grinned, waited two beats for comedic effect, and said, “Shit just got real.”

Shiro burst out into laughter, and the sound spread a warm feeling throughout Lance’s chest. He had always loved making people laugh, but this was different. Shiro was—almost too perfect to be real, and Lance successfully broke his stoic yet gentle demeanor. Since that day, Lance made a point to come to office hours with at least two jokes in tow, and Shiro, Lance knew, grew to expect and await them each week. But jokes weren’t all—during these visits, Lance talked to Shiro, got to know him, asked him about his field of study, told him about his love for drawing. Conversation flowed so easily between the two, and Lance soon considered Shiro a good friend. A pal.

And then, Lance made the mistake of saying a joke that was a little bit risqué. “I went swimming last week—wanna see my tan line?”

Shiro blushed, and the blush caught Lance off-guard. “Uh—sure,” said Shiro, his cheeks pink.

Lance stared at Shiro’s expression, but quickly recovered, and promptly showed him his arm, on which was written “sin/cos.” Shiro laughed, relieved, and though the joke was funny, the air around them got stranger somehow, more tense.

And that was when it hit Lance—he was head over heels for this guy. His hot ass TA, who was too smart to comprehend. Who read textbooks on fluid dynamics for leisure.

It was quite probably the most regrettable, useless crush Lance had ever had, because there was no way it would go anywhere. Not that any of his past crushes had gone anywhere, either, but still.

Around Thanksgiving break, he was in Shiro’s office, about to leave, when he turned back and asked him what he was doing for the weekend. Shiro told him he was staying on campus—it wasn’t worth flying back to California from the East Coast, and that his parents didn’t really celebrate Thanksgiving anyways.

Lance told Shiro that he was staying, too. He lived in California as well—SoCal as opposed to Shiro’s NorCal—and that it wasn’t worth the money to fly back, despite the fact that his family loved Thanksgiving. He would just Skype in to the celebrations.

“Hey—we should do something together. Just so we don’t get too bored and lonely,” Shiro said. The words made Lance’s heart race, and he laughed awkwardly.

“I’ll probably just be studying for finals most of the time—maybe you can come help me out?”

Shiro nodded, watching Lance carefully. “Yeah, just email me or something. You have my email. I’ll be here.”

And so, in the ballsiest move of his life, Lance invited Shiro over for dinner in his little apartment two blocks away from campus. They cooked enchiladas, chicken breasts, rice cake soup, and a pumpkin pie together—a real feast for just the two of them. Right before they sat down to eat, Shiro spotted the bong in Lance’s living room and suggested that they smoke a little before eating, so they could increase their appetite.

“Honestly, I’m breaking a lot of rules, but I know you well enough that you won’t tell anyone. Besides, it’s been too damn long,” Shiro said.

“My lips are sealed,” agreed Lance. And so they smoked two bowls and had the best meal of their lives, made better by each other’s company, and smoked another two after it was over.

Now, it’s about 11 PM, and Lance is full, slightly drowsy, and content. Lifting his head, he turns back to look at Shiro, who is, to his surprise, already looking at him. Shiro’s eyes are very red.

“I have some eyedrops,” Lance says, needing to break both the eye contact and the physical contact of Shiro touching his hair, before he does something stupid. He stands up, slowly, and goes into his bedroom, emerging with a tiny bottle of Opcon-A. Shiro groans.

“Too much effort. I can’t move,” he says from his position on the couch.

Lance laughs and drops to his knees beside the couch, right next to Shiro’s angular, gorgeous, smooth face. “I’ll do it for you.”

He leans over and holds open Shiro’s right eye with his left thumb and index finger, and uses his right hand to drop a tiny drop right into the center of the dark iris. Shiro blinks and turns his head for the other eye.

Lance repeats the motion, and Shiro closes both of his eyes, scrunching them up, letting the liquid seep in. “Feels cold,” he says.

Lance moves to stand up and put the eyedrops away, but Shiro catches his arm in his left hand. He opens his eyes, and Lance freezes.

“Lance. I really like you,” Shiro whispers. His hand slides down to hold Lance’s hand, and he brings it to his face, holding it there. “I know—I know that I’m your TA, and that this must be really weird, and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m sorry. But I can’t—I can’t keep it to myself anymore. Every Tuesday and Thursday I look forward to you coming to my office, wearing your dirty converse, and I look forward to our conversations, and to your smile—you make me so happy, Lance. That one time when you were sick and you didn’t come, you have no idea how sad I was. God, I’m rambling. You must think I’m disgusting.”

Lance’s heart is thundering in his chest. He looks down at Shiro, unable to break eye contact. Shiro’s eyes flit down to Lance’s lips, and Lance feels his face burn.

“I like you too,” says Lance, his voice thick. “I like you so much.”

Shiro stares at him. His grip on Lance’s hand tightens. “Really?”

“Really.”

The world is in slow-motion. Shiro reaches up and places his right hand on Lance’s face, and brings him down for a kiss. Lance lets his hands rest on Shiro’s chest.

The kiss is soft, just a tiny peck on the lips. Lance pulls away and leans his forehead against Shiro’s, and Shiro moves his left hand into Lance’s hair, his fingers finally scratching at Lance’s scalp. Lance kisses Shiro’s forehead, his cheekbone, his nose—he’s in awe of this man, utterly captivated by him, and every part of his face feels precious. Shiro’s head surges up and he captures Lance’s lips again with his own, and this time Lance opens his mouth, shuddering, and Shiro’s tongue slips in and rubs wetly against his, and Lance whimpers, giving in, his heart pounding.

They break apart and Lance lifts himself up onto the couch, Shiro sitting up. Shiro dives forward, pushing Lance backwards by the shoulder, his hands caging Lance against the couch. Their lips meet again, and Lance sinks into the couch on his back, his arms wrapped around Shiro’s broad shoulders, Shiro licking into his mouth, breathing Lance’s air.

Shiro gyrates slowly on top of Lance, his body pinning him down against the couch, powerful and big. Lance’s leg bends at his knee and Shiro’s leg rubs against his crotch, and he moans into Shiro’s mouth, his body on fire.

Shiro keeps gyrating, and he attacks Lance’s neck, sucking and kissing and licking at his pulse point, and Lance feels like he’s going to explode. Shiro finds Lance’s hands with one of his and holds it, his fingers intertwining into Lance’s.

“Shiro, wait—wait a second,” says Lance. Shiro doesn’t hear him, apparently, because he keeps biting a mark into Lance’s neck, his hair tickling at Lance’s temple. Lance pushes at Shiro’s shoulder and Shiro’s mouth pops off of Lance’s neck with a wet noise, and he looks down at Lance, his lips plump and red, his hair messy.

“I’m sorry,” says Shiro quickly. “Are you okay?”

Lance nods, catching his breath. “I just—I need some air,” he says. And then, he adds without thinking: “I’ve never done this before.”

He regrets it immediately. Shiro sits up, abruptly, his eyes dark, and he covers his mouth, staring down at Lance. “This is wrong,” he says. His hands move to cover his eyes. “God, I’m so—I’m so fucked up, I just—”

Lance darts up and pulls Shiro’s hand away from his eyes. He cradles Shiro’s face with his hands. “I’m not a kid,” he says. “I’m just—I’m not—I don’t like casual things, I know guys are supposed to have raging libidos and think with their dicks and shit like that, but when I was twelve and I had my first kiss with this girl named Alice I didn’t feel anything and it made me feel so disgusting, and it was more fun for me to just study and draw and—”

“Lance,” says Shiro, cutting him off gently. “I understand. I’m sorry for pushing you. I should go.”

“No!” Lance hugs Shiro, his arms tight around his neck, and Shiro’s arms encircle his waist, hesitantly. “Please don’t leave. I don’t—I’ve never wanted this until now. You’re the only one I’ve ever really wanted this with. Please.”

Shiro nuzzles his face into Lance’s neck and tightens his hold on Lance’s waist. “Are you sure?” he whispers. Lance nods, his chin digging into Shiro’s back.

Shiro pulls his face back and captures Lance’s mouth in another kiss, and Lance melts into him, his legs wrapping around to straddle Shiro where he sits. Shiro’s hands scratch at the nape of his neck, and he’s much gentler now, letting Lance set the pace. They kiss, and kiss, their lips soft and pliant and sliding together, and Shiro’s hands move to Lance’s ass, groping it and kneading it softly, making Lance shiver.

Slowly, Lance begins to move, his hips slotting against Shiro’s. It’s hot, but it feels so good, and Shiro encourages him, guiding his movements with a strong grip on Lance’s ass. They break their kiss but remain glued together, focusing on getting off, Shiro occasionally nipping at Lance’s bottom lip.

It feels incredible. Lance has never felt so euphoric, here on this couch with a man he admires, adores, loves. Their pace increases, Lance moving more and more desperately against Shiro, and their light kisses give way to pants, their foreheads still touching, sweat dripping down both of their backs. Every touch of Shiro’s hands on Lance leave a trail of fire in their wake—under Lance’s shirt, under Lance’s pants, on his neck, on his scalp, on his chest.

They come together, gasping, Lance holding Shiro’s face, and collapse back onto the couch, Lance underneath Shiro, the older man’s heavy weight surrounding him. Shiro lays his head on Lance’s chest and intertwines his fingers once again with Lance’s, and Lance breathes deeply, his other fingers stroking Shiro’s hair. He’s sticky down there, but it doesn’t matter—he’s too tired to care. He realizes dimly that _Sunny_  is still playing in the background, and he reaches his arm out and searches for the remote, shutting the TV off with a click.

They fall asleep like this, curled together, spent.

The next morning, Lance wakes up before Shiro and untangles himself, moving to brush his teeth, wash his face, change into fresh clothes, reheat some of the leftover soup. He feels groggy, disoriented still, the effects of the weed not fully gone. He remembers the events of the previous night and blushes, hoping he wasn’t too naïve. But the thought doesn’t bother him, really— there’s a first time for everything.

As he’s spooning a ladleful of the soup into a bowl, he feels strong arms wrap around his waist from behind. Shiro kisses down his cheek and his neck, and Lance smiles. He sets the ladle back and turns around, looking up at Shiro.

“How are you feeling?” he asks him.

“Good. How about you?”

“I’m good. I’m happy.”

They kiss again, and Lance doesn’t mind Shiro’s morning breath.

After they eat and clean up, they wash up and set out to the city, maybe to go shopping together or just wander the town. It is Black Friday, after all, and Shiro has been eyeing a pair of headphones at Best Buy. As Lance climbs into the passenger seat of Shiro’s car, he thinks about how he’s never going to have to take the bus anywhere again. But then the thought makes him freeze for a moment, and he thinks, staring out the window as Shiro pulls out of his parking spot.

“So—what happens now?” he asks.

“We’re going shopping?” says Shiro, confused, glancing at him.

“No, I mean—you’re still my TA. And—is this a one-time thing, or…?”

Shiro looks at him, fixing him with a glare. “It’s not a one-time thing. I want to go on vacations with you. And introduce you to my parents. Sorry—too soon?”

“No, I feel the same,” says Lance, quietly. They both smile.

Shiro switches the blinker on and merges into the left lane. “And don’t worry about the TA thing. We can be discrete until next semester.”  
Lance nods. Then, he grins. “Hey, Shiro, you know what else is discrete?”

Shiro groans. “Don’t do it—”

“Math,” says Lance.

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> yes in case u didn't notice they're rapidly falling in love and probably are going to get married. thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed!


End file.
